


Ambrosia

by TheBeesofNotredame



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A slow burn for a cold open, Aziraphale discovers food, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, M/M, Post Eden, Pre-mesopotamia, tumblr ficlets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 18:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeesofNotredame/pseuds/TheBeesofNotredame
Summary: "It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to immerse himself among them... cautiously approaching the individuals gathered around a fire, cooking some sort of creature’s carcass over it which up until now, Aziraphale found distasteful...He would have likely retained this perspective if it hadn’t been for the scent that wafted off of the slowly cooking meat. A scent that could only be described as divine."Aziraphale will have three great loves in his immortal lifetime. Somewhere between Eden and Mesopotamia, he meets two out of three (and only because books haven't been invented yet).





	Ambrosia

**Author's Note:**

> Two scenes I would have loved to see: the first being when Aziraphale experiences human cuisine for the first time, and the second being how Crowley learns Aziraphale's name.   
There are plenty of headcanons that believe he already knew Aziraphale and I adore each and every one of them. But I decided to go for something simpler for the sake of this little ficlet.

**-Somewhere between Eden and Mesopotamia-**

They would cross each others path now and again- it was difficult not to back in those days, when there was still so little world to be had. He would catch sight of him- a ruffle of dark robes turning a corner, a glint of crimson in firelight as they leaned over to whisper in someone’s ear.

He would perform a miracle or two, keeping the balance but in those early days, there was little to do but to watch and wait- for _what_ he doubted either of them could say, but he got the feeling that he would reflect upon later that, even back then, they were on their _own side_\- both inching humanity along, helping it to its feet until it could take off running. 

They grew accustomed to one another, though they never spoke, not since the first time. There would be a nod of acknowledgment between them, a tentative smile shared between them as they witnessed some of man’s early triumphs, and once, a wink (which lead to an entire month of humans winking at one another, not entirely certain of its purpose yet, but delighted in figuring it out). 

It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to immerse himself among them, his curiosity perhaps getting the better of him. He blamed this form- all of these new senses- and it was one in particular that had him coming out from the outskirts and cautiously approaching the individuals gathered around a fire, cooking some sort of creature’s carcass over it, which up until now, Aziraphale found distasteful and couldn’t understand why humans had diverged from what he thought to be a perfectly reasonable diet of vegetation, after all, there was a great deal to be had after that first rain (clearly benevolent forethought of The Almighty and further proof of the Ineffable Plan). 

He would have likely retained this perspective if it hadn’t been for the scent that wafted off of the slowly cooking meat.

A scent that could only be described as _divine_. 

He followed his nose towards the source and was shocked to find it coming from the repulsive skewered carcass dangling above the flames. 

He was greeted happily (he was always welcomed among them, it was his nature, to put others at ease) and invited to share the warmth of the fire. He obliged, sitting in the sand among the others, closer than he had been to them since he had first given Adam his sword. There were so many of them now- a mere handful in terms of comparison with heavenly beings, perhaps, but for only starting with two, the humans had added to their numbers rather impressively. They had begun to travel in packs, and on occasion when these groups would meet, they would cheerily join one another for a time, share a fire and food, perhaps intermingle and then eventually, break off again, their individual groups destined to grow larger from the women who were now expecting and on occasion the fathers who would join along. 

This was one such merry gathering, and Aziraphale quickly found himself comfortably situated among them. 

He had never experienced hunger- angels no more needed to consume food than they needed to breathe, however Aziraphale prided himself in his capabilities of blending in with them and had gotten breathing down in the first twenty years, which he thought was rather impressive. He found he enjoyed it, there was something soothing about the constant eb and flow of air traveling within his lungs.

But eating- _eating_ was something else _entirely_. 

Aziraphale’s senses were overwhelmed at once- the sensation as his until-then unused incisors broke through the skin as one might the flesh of an apple, and much like he had observed with the fruit, he was met with a cascade of juices- hot and brimming with complex flavors he had never experienced before, smokey and rich and sweet and completely incomparable, dancing across he never-before-used tastebuds. This was followed by a strange, overwhelming sense of satisfaction as he swallowed, the masticated contents sliding down his throat and into his belly, providing him with a sense of well-being and security he hadn’t known he had been missing. This, this was _exquisite_. 

He found himself quickly devouring the meat like an animal starved and he realized, in a sense, he was- the very idea that he had gone so long without fully experiencing this sensation that was so integral to humanity was astounding and he wondered what else he had been missing out on. 

His question was answered mere moments later when the pleasant sensation he had been feeling began to slow, bites becoming more difficult to swallow as his throat grew inexplicably dry. He coughed, panicking, he had been foolish, assuming he would be able to consume food as the humans did and not experience any ramifications- how was he going to explain it to the others when he found himself discorporated after only a couple hundred years due to eating- he would be a laughing stock. They were laughing at him now- these humans, and he felt his face heating up with embarrassment, humans, laughing at him- Aziraphale, guardian of the Eastern Gate, the very reason they existed at all, how dare-

One of them handed him something in a small clay cup. He had seen them drink from these often and some deep down engrained instinct that he assumed also came with this form had him lifting the cup up to his lips and drinking heavily and-

_Oh my…._

If he had thought the heat from the fire-charred meat was pleasant, than this was positively _transcendent_. 

The liquid was cool, at first, a tart, bitter taste that began as unpleasant, until it mingled with the remnant flavors of the meat, and then it sang. The liquid awoke new sensations upon his tongue that sharply contrasted one another and positively ignited as the cold warmth traveled down his throat, clearing the passage and quenching what he realized was thirst. 

The humans chuckled, the one who had proffered the drink clapping him heartily on the back and offering up more, which Aziraphale took, delighted. 

It was as though he were imbibing in liquid happiness- the warmth that had initially stemmed from his throat and belly, rapidly spreading throughout his entire being, relaxing muscles he hadn’t realized had been tense, his mind buzzing delightedly and he wondered why it had taken so long for him to join these humans, they really were a wonderful, friendly bunch. 

He was on his third cup when he saw that scarlet mane of hair flicker just beyond his vision. When before he might have ignored it, now he found himself positively delighted. 

“CRAWLEY!” He called in what he immediately realized was, perhaps, far too loudly. The demon looked positively flummoxed at the abrupt attention, frozen mid-step, yellow eyes wide as he met Aziraphale’s across the fire. Others caught sight of him and, much as they had with Aziraphale, cheerfully called him over, Aziraphale among their number, waving him over with enthusiasm. 

The demon approached tentatively, eyeing Aziraphale warily, which Aziraphale found absolutely absurd- poor thing was probably freezing out there in the shadows, Heaven knows he was. 

The humans moved to the side to make room and Aziraphale patted the place beside him, invitingly, which the demon hesitantly took, looking for the world, lost. 

“Have you ever had this before- I’m not quite certain what- I believe it is goat, you absolutely MUST- Turka tells me she rubbed it with a mixture she created out of saffron and salt, she really is clever- here, try some, I insist!” Aziraphale babbled, thrusting what he presumed must be a leg at Crawley, who takes it, absently, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale, a puzzled expression on his face as though trying to figure him out, before tentatively lifting the meat to his mouth and nibbling on it, eyebrows raised in surprise as he begins to focus more attention on it and mutters something along the lines of “Not bad…” 

Aziraphale positively beams, as though he himself had a hand at making it.

“OH! I’d nearly forgotten- and THIS- you must try this!” He thrusted a cup of the magical concoction he had been handed upon Crawley, who, baffled, obliged. 

He freezes, eyes going wide, before bursting into movement and proceeding to tilt his head back and down the entire cup and Aziraphale finds himself temporarily mesmerized watching his long, pale throat as he gulps the concoction down. 

When he raised his head, there was a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there prior, his expression shifting to one of absolute delight. 

“Now that- THAT’s what- what do you call that?”

Aziraphale shrugged, he hadn’t bothered asking. Crawley seemed equally nonplussed. 

“Well I’ll be having more of that- _brilliant_ that is- an’ these humans _made_ it…” He mused, almost affectionately looking at them, before turning a much more friendly gaze on his companion.

“So, what’s new with you, angel?” 

“Aziraphale.” The angel corrected and watched the smile grow on the demon’s face.

“Aziraphale.” the demon repeated in a way that sent a shiver down the angel’s spine. 

Which was quite odd, as with the combination of the fire and the drink, he had been pleasantly warm until that moment. 

He chalked it up to being in a demonic presence. 

“Didn’t get a chance to ask- last time, what with the-” the demon made an incomprehensible gesture with his hand that could have been rain…or perhaps a sword…whatever it was it was making Aziraphale’s addled mind dizzy.

He nodded, vaguely.

“Yes, it was a rather…pressing time.” Aziraphale mentioned before “good Lord- I believe I might have indulged a tad too much." 

"Pfffft” replied the demon, eloquently, “nah, c'mon, the fun’s just begun- oi! Er-”

“Lek”

“Lek! Some more of this lovely concoction for myself and my friend here!”

He didn’t remember much more of the night, though he did recall a great deal of talking, laughing and the one, shining thought that peeked out of the fog: “_I’ve never had a friend before.”_ The prospect, he found in his pleasant intoxicated haze, was very exciting.


End file.
